


lost and found

by nafnaf



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Babysitting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-06-28 10:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nafnaf/pseuds/nafnaf
Summary: When Goro saves the life of a child abandoned on the streets, it takes him to the doorstep of a place rife with bad memories, both new and old. He expects the past to catch up with him, of course, but—not like this. Not so soon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> heads up that the circumstances of this fic aren't reflective of japan's actual foster care situation, though i did do my research and tried my best to replicate what i believed the routine was!

Goro promised himself he would never visit again. There was too much to lose, too little to gain, and surely he’d crack upon seeing those familiar rusted gates again. But regardless of all his reservations, he came, a pale, shivering child in his arms, because he couldn’t help but come to the one place he knows can help her.

The front lawn is neater than he last remembers it—more immaculate. Renovations take the place of the slightly sunken-in roof, the creaky wooden door, the peeling wall paint that once comprised the shabby institution. It’s hardly recognizable at all, and Goro wonders whether to be disappointed or grateful for it.

Denying himself the opportunity to decide, he enters the building with thinned lips and hunched shoulders, arms huddled protectively over Chiyo.

The inside is not the same, either—of course not, not after ten years. But something in his stomach roils, even as he sits at the waiting area and closes his eyes, counts to ten in his head.

He takes deep breaths. Chiyo squirms in his arms. She’s not as cold as before, courtesy to Goro’s sweater, though her limbs jolt every now and then, a whimper escaping her mouth with each movement. Goro remembers the state he found her in just a few hours earlier in the corner of that alleyway. His chest stirs with ill-contained anger.

“Everything will be okay,” he says, although he’s not sure how much of it she can hear. Perhaps he’s telling it to himself, not her. She had been nothing but a heavy weight on his conscience since the moment he picked her from the ground and rushed her to the nearest child-care institution (his _own_ ), and as soon as she’s in the arms of a professional, he can slip away quietly and never worry about her again. There is no room for him to, after all.

Minutes later, a woman around his age catches his attention. He is led to a private area where there are no noisy children, no memories of fussy caretakers or bland bentos. He restrains a relieved sigh at the unfamiliar walls, lacking in everything he once knew. He must have never visited this room as a kid.

“It’s nice to meet you,” says the woman, tapping her pen repeatedly against her clipboard. “I’m one of the nurses here. Mari Chisaka. And you?”

“Goro Akechi,” he says, and takes a seat. Chiyo is not roused at all. 

The nurse is watching him with interest, but not familiarity—odd, coming from someone who should recognize his name, and if not his name, then perhaps his face. But five years of hard work (hard work consisting of no work) have ensured the erasure of his public identity, and the lack of recognition in her features causes relief and dread to balloon simultaneously in his chest.

“Goro Akechi, huh? Have you considered taking her to the doctor at all?”

“Not at all. I’m sorry. I panicked.” Truthfully, he hadn't wanted to, as thinking of stepping foot in a hospital left a chill crawling up his spine.

“You’re lucky we have a medical staff on-site, then. May I ask you a few questions instead?” Mari inquires, and Goro acquiesces.

The registration process crawls on for hours. Goro knows nothing about this girl aside from the fact that she was tossed aside, on the verge of frostbite. _And_ that her name is Chiyo, though it took several long minutes of coaxing to wriggle that piece of information out of her.

Aside from that, he relies purely on deduction. Chiyo must be in pre-school, though however old she is, she could very well pass off as a one-year old given her constitution. He found her in Shinjuku, suggesting that her parents could have been involved in sex work, or with selling drugs. Either way, it must have been a deplorable pursuit.

While she was in their custody, she was abused often (if the ring of bruises on her back are any indication), most likely manipulated, maybe even  _exploited_ (for he remembers the fear, the rage, the indignation that flooded his being when he found her malnourished, as skittish as a baby deer, nothing but fear in her eyes at everything she looked—and the _chain_ on her neck—)

He has to bite down on his tongue to stymie the anger that rises at the thought.

He promptly ends the interrogation there and walks with Chiyo, asleep in his embrace, to the health office, where she’ll be resting for the time being. He hardly listens to a word they say. Why should he, when this is the last he’ll see of Chiyo again? He leaves his number with them just to humor them, and departs as soon as he has the chance. He doesn’t look back because he fears if he does, he’ll go running back in, get himself in trouble again.

Not a day later, he receives a call from the institution.

“She’s insatiable,” says Mari on the other side, over the sounds of crying and some hissed instructions from a nurse. “She says she wants to see you.”

Goro isn’t sure why that makes his gut twist. He answers, “I’m sure she’ll be fine without me. Give it another day. I imagine she’s simply unfamiliar with her new environment.” And they do as he says.

The next morning, they call him again. Giving him the same excuses, the same desperate pleas. Even with a full night’s sleep, they say, she refuses to eat her breakfast and constantly asks for you, wondering why you left her. Goro’s stomach turns even further, as if curling in on itself. His fingers grip the phone tight.

“I’ll see what this is about.” With that, he hangs up on them and grabs his coat.

Chiyo is dozing off when he arrives at the health office, windswept hair and all, face flushed and nerves overwrought. He pulls up a chair beside her bed, observing her quietly. He resists the urge to touch. His hands, after all, have long been associated with acts of violence.

Why should he care about this child? He has far more important matters to be dealing with, such as scraping up money for rent. Surely, the institution could have managed without him. Chiyo would have forgotten him in time. Just like everyone else. Everything would go back to normal, because it always did, and that’s exactly what he counts on to happen.

But despite his logic, his mind strays. And all he can think about is whether or not Chiyo is warm enough in those blankets.

She wakes at around noon, her weary eyes drifting in his direction, fixing on him curiously. She blinks, once or twice. His breath catches in his throat.

“Ah,” is all she says. They stare at each other for a few more minutes before Goro reaches behind him, procuring the tray of food the nurse brought in earlier, still piping hot. She allows herself to be fed by him even though she won’t let him within three feet of herself for more than ten seconds at a time, and that’s… more trust than Goro is used to receiving, and a lump forms in his throat at this. Behind him, the nurses watch in awe.

“Could you come back the next day?” one of them asks hopefully, and Goro can do little else but nod.

 

* * *

 

The Asakawa Child Care Institution was never ideal. Goro wasn’t fit for it, either. Prone to tantrums, a lone wolf of sorts, despising every company that was offered to him. Foster care had been a wash, and the institution was powerless to help him; the least they could do was nurture him to adolescence. He supposes it’s cruel, placing Chiyo in the very same system that failed him and put a brand on his name. Perhaps that’s why he keeps checking in on her. He can’t very well raise her on his own, and as lacking as he is in connections…

… No. _They_ don’t count. He had never entertained reaching out to them again, and he sure as hell isn’t going to start now, not when they think he’s dead. He got enough help from them as a teenager.

“You don’t like the peas?” Goro says during mealtime, scrunching up his nose. Chiyo does the same, sticking her tongue out at it. He’s practically become one of the institution’s staff members by now, and he laments how easily he had been roped into it. He sighs and tucks the peas to the other side of the plate. Picky children are the worst, but…

Chiyo is…

Well. Either way, she couldn’t afford to be picky under her parents, so Goro allows her the privilege of making choices. Discovering likes, uncovering dislikes.

It’s hard to tell what she likes, regrettably. She rarely talks, and her face is immobile half the time, as if scared to make any indication of her emotions. Goro savors what few facial expressions she allows to slip through, such as now, the clear disdain for the peas etched onto her face. It gives him something to work with. A sign of success on his part.

That being said, he’s no idiot. He catalogues every one of her reactions for future reference, because failure is not an option. Children are a force to be reckoned with; he remembers the last time he drove Chiyo to tears because of a misplaced stuffed toy. He keeps it within reach everyday now.

He never misses the upward slant of her lips when he sneaks her some candy, the eager widening of her eyes when he reads his favorite novels to her, the furrowed brow at each of his pensive silences, either. Because of that, he forces himself to think less around her.

It’s a week into his visits when Mari approaches him, wearing a sunny smile that forecasts good news. “Chiyo-chan is almost fully stable,” she says, and while it’s cheerful, Goro is anything but. “We expect that she’ll be able to live with the other children soon. Maybe she’ll even be assigned to a loving foster home in time! But, ah, thank you for helping us, Akechi-san. You’ve been very…”

“No problem,” Goro cuts in, not liking the dryness of his tongue. There’s a protest budding in there somewhere, but he gives it no time to mature, gritting out, “It's my pleasure.”

The institution says he can leave, so he does. He gives himself two days of distance before making any reckless decisions.

On day two, he comes to a conclusion.

At the doorstep of the Asakawa Child Care Institution, Mari welcomes him with open arms, glad for an extra pair of hands. Chiyo is not sociable, as Goro expected, and hasn’t been adjusting well to her environment, so “it would be really nice, you know, if you could help her connect with the other children, et cetera, et cetera”.

Children. Ugh. When did Goro get so involved with _children_?

Nevertheless, he’s an unemployed twenty-something-year-old man with nothing better to do but solve sudoku puzzles at midnight in his bedroom, so what’s the harm? He enters the building and seeks Chiyo out, finding her huddled in the corner of the playroom with eyes alight and stance cautious. “All right, up you go,” Goro mutters, lifting Chiyo easily and dragging her to the center of the room. She barely resists, though her shoulders are tense and nervous.

God, he has no idea what he’s doing. As soon as he plops her down on the jigsaw puzzle mat, all the research he has ever conducted (in the nurse’s office, on his phone while Chiyo took her daily naps, or at his apartment over a cup of instant ramen) flees from his skull.

“What do you want to do?” he asks her instead, because that’s the best he has.

Chiyo shrugs.

Sighing through his nose, Goro sits cross-legged beside her and looks her in the eyes, all sobriety and inquisitiveness—a tactic known only to work on his clients when probing them for information. Chiyo is not affected by it. In fact, she meets his gaze with a serious look of her own, startling him out of his concentration.

Okay then.

“Would you like to play games with the other kids?” he questions, to which she answers with a frown. He starts up again, “Watch television?” And she shakes her head vigorously.

She almost reminds him of his younger self, and by that logic…

“Very well.” He sighs, leaning back slightly, and Chiyo has free reign. As if encouraged by his presence, she starts to toddle around, almost entirely uninterested in the corner she had once been hibernating in. Her curiosity has won her over.

Goro follows Chiyo around as her tiny hands prey on every little object she can find. Her first victims include the bead mazes and interactive picture books, though she quickly deems them insignificant and abandons them on the carpet. When peeking through all the open doors of the institution and standing in the middle of the kitchen aren’t enough, Chiyo turns to him instead. Tugging at his gloves, running her hands through his long, silky hair.

“What are you doing?” he inquires, with no success. She reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a notebook—the one he once used for cases, but now uses for Chiyo. Her stubby fingers flip through the pages idly.

“You won’t find anything interesting there.” Regardless, she continues to squint at the words, not that she’ll ever be able to decipher them anyway. The fact that this is a point of interest at all to her boggles his mind.

He reaches for the notebook, grumbling, “It’s not that important…”

Someone taps his shoulder, then, and Goro turns around.

“Are you Akechi-san?” One of the nurses meets his gaze, and when Goro looks to the right of her, he sees a couple more standing behind her. He gives a slow nod.

“Yes, that would be me. Did you need something?”

“I’m sorry, I just—” The nurse glances pointedly at Chiyo. “We haven’t seen anyone able to interact with Chiyo so closely. It’s remarkable. How do you do it?”  

For a long, agonizing moment, Goro simply stares. “There’s not much to learn,” he says at last. It’s not like he he knows why Chiyo likes him, either. But he’s not unused to scrutiny, and he smiles one of his princely smiles when he says, “Would you like to stay and keep us company, though?”  

And the nurses stay, because they can. They take advantage of his polite, unthinking mouth, fawn over him and fawn over Chiyo, and eventually, a number of other children come over to stay, too, playing with whatever Goro has to offer. Goro sighs and lets it happen because if he bores them enough, maybe they’ll go away. Maybe they’ll see it’s not worth it.

But the day ends with three children hanging off of his legs, and in his arms lies a sleepy Chiyo, worn out from social interaction. He tucks her in with the flimsy institution blanket and stares at her face for a minute before rising from his chair and shuffling away, leaving his jacket over Chiyo’s shoulders.

 

* * *

 

Goro’s not sure why he’s here.

He must have asked himself the same question twenty times since he met Chiyo, but now, he’s not at the institution. The department store he’s at boasts an array of colorful toys, colorful clothes, and Goro curses under his breath as he realizes he doesn’t have enough money to afford half of these things. But it’s just as well; he’ll at least be able to contribute in some way, and that’s better than if he did nothing at all.

All because some nurse offhandedly suggested they were running low on supplies. How pitiful. And now _he’s_ going to be providing for them, poor, jobless him, when he can’t even afford to go eat out more than once a week.

… Well. It’s the least he could do, he supposes, for imposing Chiyo onto them. He tells himself as much as he begins checking items off the shopping list, adding a couple things he thinks Chiyo will like—things like books, jelly candies, scarves…

His wallet is dry by the time he’s done shopping, and he carries maybe five heavyweight bags to the train station en route to the institution. Mari and the other nurses (whose names he is slowly learning—Himeko, Ran, Nagisa, Azuma…) help him bring them in, unpack them, store them, until all the bags are emptied and put away.

The kids are ecstatic with the new toys. Chiyo, especially. She sits on Goro’s lap for hours playing on a child-sized keyboard, enamored with its dulcet melodies, the chunky keys that play note after note until Goro’s ears go numb. The nurses make them a lavish dinner later that evening, a meal so rich and fulfilling that Goro is left in a coma for an hour, and nothing has ever felt this good, not at this institution. Not until now.

At least the children are happy, Goro thinks. Happy, unlike himself, when this place was just an old office building run by old women with no money, no strength, and children were being picked up and thrown back in at alarming speeds, the government not caring enough to do anything about it, and Goro learned what it meant to buy conbini meals with money left on the table, how it felt to attend every school event alone. Goro takes comfort in the fact that they have what they have now. Things aren’t perfect, of course, but, well. They’re working out. And that has to count for something.

“Thank you,” Mari tells him later, in the privacy of the staff lounge where only Chiyo is around to hear their whispers. “You didn’t have to do this for us.”

“I have to pay you all back somehow.” Goro smiles, but he doesn’t believe a word that leaves his mouth. Mari smiles back though, touches his shoulder, and that erases all doubt from his mind.

“You’re a good person, Akechi-san.”

Goro frowns and shakes his head, as if he can rid the notion from his mind. “This is nothing, I assure you.” He pauses thoughtfully. “You know, Mari-san, I used to live in this institution as a child.”

“Really?” Mari’s eyes widen at that.

“Yes. I hated it here. It wasn’t half as good as it is now, unfortunately.” He glances down at Chiyo, brushing the hair out of her eyes, some of his own falling over his face. “I resented the idea of coming back. But I had nowhere else to turn. I had no idea how to care for Chiyo, and there was no one I could trust to do it for me. In retrospect, though, I am thankful. Thankful that things seemed to have changed for the better. You know, in other institutions—”

His breath catches, and Mari watches him, her brows knitted with concern. He musters up the willpower to speak again. “It isn’t this way, in other institutions.”

“I know, Akechi-san.”

“I was scared, actually—that Asakawa hadn't changed from before—”

“It’s okay,” Mari soothes, rubbing his upper back, and he flinches at the contact. If she notices how he draws away, hunches his shoulders on reflex, she doesn’t say anything.

“… Akechi-san,” she says after a moment, smile fragile. “We’ve been working really, really hard to use what little freedom we have to make things better for the children. It doesn’t mean I can stop terrible things from happening every now and then, but with a little effort—and the right people to help me, then—then I think it’s possible to change the situation. No matter how impossible the feat seems at first. Don’t you think?”

Goro stares right back at her, eyes narrowed, posture stiff.

“I don’t know.” He relaxes his hold on Chiyo. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

Chiyo whines into his shoulder, then, squirming around and slicking her drool against the skin of Goro’s neck, and Goro laughs and says, “Ah. I think it’s time for me to tuck her in.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be right here.” Mari inclines her head, examining Goro with a curious eye. “You know, you claim to be bad with children, but with all that’s happened the past week… I think you know what you’re doing. Don’t you?”

“Ah, do I?” He chuckles incredulously, but Mari waves this off.

“No, I mean it. The children take to you so well. Normally we’re unable to keep them in one place, especially since our last volunteer had to leave the other day for work, but you—you have a presence. And the children listen to you.”

He doesn't know why his stomach coils at that. But, he takes it in stride, smiling and saying, “Thank you, Mari-san.” He adjusts Chiyo in his arms. “Say, I haven’t seen this other volunteer before. The extra help is sorely needed, and it is a little rude to leave the day I arrive.”

“I agree,” Mari murmurs, folding her arms across her chest. “He’s not busy on the weekends, though. Perhaps you will get to meet him then?”

 

* * *

 

Some of the children are gone when Goro returns, Nagisa explaining that they’ve found foster homes for them—that it’s necessary, because the large numbers are starting to press on the institution’s shoulders, and it’s better this way, anyway. Goro doesn’t know what to say to that. He knows, realistically, he can’t do any more to help these children than help around the building once in a while, but the knowledge still stings.

To think that any of these children are at risk, that they may very well be heading for their doom at their foster homes—

They remind him all too much of himself.

Not the one currently wreaking havoc at the drawing station, though. Nor the one he’s trying to stop from putting crayons into her mouth, or the one that doesn’t know that reading books does not consist of tearing pages out and eating them. Goro plucks the third slimy page of the day out of a child’s mouth and thinks, _ugh, children._

“We’re replacing this book,” he says to the air, and pulls it out of arm’s reach. He’s placing it safely on a high shelf when someone tugs on the cuff of his dress pants.

Big eyes look back up at him. “I want food.”

“I don’t know how to cook,” he answers smoothly, which is not true. He can cook rice. Eggs, too. Grilled cheese, probably.

“Snacks?” the boy continues, and Goro sighs. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of konpeito—by now he has learned to keep them on hand—and the boy thanks him, toddling off to who knows where. Goro doesn’t trust him to take care of himself, so he follows him until they’ve both reached the TV room and the boy is seating himself on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Goro asks, watching him open the bag of konpeito and throw some in his mouth. The boy glances at him.

“Puzzles.”

On the screen, a game of Sokoban that’s already touched plays, though it doesn’t seem like the boy had done much but move around the boxes ineffectually (for his own amusement, maybe). Against his better judgement, Goro picks up the controller and sits down next to him.

“Do you know how to play this game?” Goro asks. The boy shakes his head, and Goro scoots closer. “Well, the objective of the game is to move the crates to those points marked on the board until all of them are covered. It’s really difficult, you see.”

“I want to try,” says the boy, but Goro holds up a finger.

“Ah, watch me first.”

The boy watches, mesmerized, as Goro taps along the game until all the crates have been moved, sounding a victory theme and moving onto the next stage. He hands the controller over, smiling amiably. “Now, you try.”

The boy does. He struggles at first, trapping himself on multiple occasions, but with a little effort and guidance from Goro, he completes the set and cheers when it’s over. “I did it!” He beams, delighted, and Goro nods an acknowledgement.

“So you did.”

“Let’s play more,” he begs, when Goro moves to stand. Goro forces out a laugh.

“Um…” The last time he'd said no to a child bore undesirable results.“Okay, I suppose. What other games do we have on here?”

Not a lot, apparently, and Goro is familiar with neither of them save for Sokoban. He grits his teeth and allows himself to sit through an hour of this child’s ramblings, including attempts to explain the games to Goro in underdeveloped Japanese when Goro has already learned how to play and is simply exceedingly bad at it. It’s social facilitation, he thinks. It can't be anything else.

“Hey, Akechi-kun—” Mari walks into the room then, stopping promptly, glancing around with confusion in her eyes. “Ah. Where’s Chiyo?”  

“Napping,” Goro answers distractedly, cursing under his breath when his ship is destroyed. The boy, Katsuo, laughs at him.

“You died.”

“I can _see_ that.”

“She wasn’t in her room,” Mari interrupts, catching Goro’s full attention, and he shoots up out of his spot.

“What?”

Mari is saying more to him, but Goro doesn’t wait to hear it, stalking out the door in seconds and fluttering around for any sign of Chiyo. People stop him at least five times, four of them children attempting to ride his shoulders and the other by Nagisa, who asks why he looks so shaken, and when Goro asks “Where is Chiyo?” she just shrugs one shoulder.

“I saw Chiyo,” pipes up a child, and Goro whips around to face her. “In the kitchen.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs. Goro bolts in, out-of-breath, spotting Chiyo sitting at the table with tear-stained cheeks but otherwise no sign of injury. She isn’t crying at all, actually; her face is puffy with the aftereffects of it, eyes still slightly glassy, but the crayons in her hand and the color-streaked table seem to have pacified her. Goro huffs out a breath, scooping her up in his arms and ceasing her vandalism (and he wonders—wonders when was he able to do this with such ease, when it stopped being a need to maintain a distance—).

“You scared me,” he breathes, reaching into his breast pocket and handing her his notebook to doodle in. She takes it immediately, flipping to a page chock-full of notes once used for an old case but now acts as the canvas for her red crayon.

Cautiously, Goro regards her. Anything he says is usually met back with acknowledgement by Chiyo, but she hasn’t spoken much words to him in general, even after all this time. “Are you okay now? I noticed you were crying,” he tries out. She says nothing. “I’m sorry that I left you. I hope you weren’t looking for me.”

Chiyo shakes her head, which is enough. He considers slipping her some candy and is just about to do so when a voice in the kitchen startles him.

“So you’re the guy who melted Chiyo’s heart?”

Goro’s stomach drops.

“She's quite the ice princess,” the stranger continues, coming up beside Goro. He chuckles under his breath when Chiyo instantly recoils into Goro’s arms, dropping the notebook in the process. “See? She’s attached to you. But I'm glad you're here to take over for me.”

Goro can’t look back, doesn’t _want_ to look back, for he knows if he does he’ll simply tip over, like a house of cards in an icy wind. But the man next to him is none the wiser, plucking Goro’s notebook off the floor and preparing to return it, but—

 _He_ stops, too. Gives it one long look. Drops it.

He turns his shock-slackened face in Goro’s direction.

“Akechi?” The man gapes.

And then the cards collapse, Goro’s stomach plummeting at the sight of Ren Amamiya, skin and bone and heart and _staring_ at Goro with such a look of open betrayal that it leaves him breathless and disoriented.

“Ren,” Goro whispers, his tongue twisting in his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Ren volunteers here. Of _course_ he does. The guy’s a wanderer, drifting from job to job to sate his endless need for unpredictability, the adrenaline rush of it all. How fortunate that he happened to select this very institution, the same one that grew Goro from a pink-faced child to a boorish adolescent. He’s almost touched at the coincidence.

“You didn’t tell me you were alive,” Ren mutters to the wall, his face taut with displeasure. He had refused to look at Goro the entire time they’d walked here, turning his face away even as he leaned against the wall in front of Goro, which—is understandable, if one has to deal with a ghost. Still, Goro is alarmed to see the blatant vexation in his features; normally he is poker-faced, defenses fully up, but now, he is weak. He is trembling.

Goro has to form the words on his tongue carefully before speaking. “I would have much rather preferred it stayed that way.” It sounds insincere coming from his mouth.

Ren leans back, chews on his lip. He gestures vaguely towards Goro’s lap. “Couldn’t you just leave her with the nurses?” he grouses.

In Goro’s arms, Chiyo blinks unsuspectingly. She’s too preoccupied with her current engagement to care about a word they’re saying (that being, fiddling with Goro’s blazer) but even without the distraction she wouldn’t be able to comprehend the gravity of their conversation anyway. Goro cradles her head against his chest.

“What’s wrong with her being here? I’m sure anything you could say to me, you could say in front of Chiyo-chan as well.”

Ren blows air through his nose, clearly uncomfortable. “Using the child to your advantage, huh?” His words are dry, grating, and Goro is immediately indignant.

He flares his nostrils. “That is _not_ true. She’s my—”

Goro cuts himself off at once. Ren cocks a brow at him, shifting awkwardly against the wall, as if holding back from saying something unpleasant. But the words that leave his mouth are, “You’ve changed,” sounding as wistful as ever, and Goro breaks.

He shakes his head fitfully. Doesn’t hold back the tear that slips down his cheek. Chiyo notices it, wiping the tear off with her thumb and licking at it, mouth twisting at the taste. Goro runs his hand through her hair and pulls her close, confused and angry and helpless and vainly hoping that Ren can’t see how hard he’s trembling from behind Chiyo. Ren, thankfully, doesn’t say anything—but the look in his eyes reveals all.

“I… I’m sorry,” Goro hisses through a shuddered breath. “I didn’t _want_ —”  

Didn’t want _what?_ To betray Ren, to hurt him? No, he wanted that _very_ much—worked hard to make it happen, even smiled when it finally came to fruition—but he didn’t expect the _pain_ that would come with it, the regret, the guilt, the turning of his stomach every time he saw something even remotely related to Ren, like a Risette poster or a black cat in an alleyway or a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, all unassuming, so, so very frustrating—

And now, five years later, it should be done with? He should forget all about it because that’s the decision he made, five years ago when he escaped from that ship, vowing to live in the shadows for the rest of life and escape the world he should have been trying to fix? Goro feels sick with disgust. He shouldn't have come, shouldn't have stuck his nose where it didn't belong, and yet…

What the hell is he supposed to do? What the hell has he been _doing?_

“I don’t know,” Goro says aloud. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

At that, Ren faces him fully. His eyes are wet, but aside from that, he’s unreadable. Emotions tucked carefully within. “Tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“You know what I mean.”

Goro bites his lip, all of a sudden claustrophobic. He sets Chiyo down on the seat so that he has room to stand, keeping his gaze steady on Ren, as much as he can manage, anyway.

“Do you really think, that after all that I had put you through, I’d assume you’d want to see me again?” He starts to move closer, but pulls himself back reflexively. All of Ren’s hackles are up now. Venturing any further would mean catastrophe.

“I thought you knew.” Ren’s voice is thick. “Akechi, we wanted you there.”

“To what, help you get rid of Shido and then discard me when it was over? Don’t play games with me.” Goro chokes out a laugh. “You never knew what to do with me. You just wanted me out of the way. There was never a place I could belong, not when Shido was going to kill me off once I’d outlived my usefulness. Surely you don’t think the _Phantom Thieves_ could be that place for me? Please. I was better off dead!”

Ren pushes himself off the wall, his eyes flashing. A shiver darts down Goro’s spine, and he tries to back away, but there’s only a window behind him, caging him in when Ren leans in close enough to—

“You don’t know a _thing_ about me,” Ren hisses, seizing Goro’s shoulders. His fingers dig in, hard; Goro winces, but Ren does not loosen his grip. He squeezes him like he expects his fingers will simply phase through, like touching a phantom, like Goro was never truly there. “Do you want to know the truth, Akechi?”

“I—I—”

“We never wanted you to die. We were angry with you, of course, but we were going to _help you_. We saw ourselves in you. Don’t pretend like we didn’t give a shit about you, Akechi.”

Goro grinds his teeth, his temper flaring. “Do you think I _wanted_ your help?”

“No. Not wanted.”

“What, _needed_ it, then? Don’t make me laugh. As if I’m nothing else but a charity case!” He shoves Ren away, retreating to the other side of the room where Ren won’t see his tears.

Ren's eyes burn into his back. “Do you think we were doing this out of pity?”

“What else?” Goro seethes, his chest heaving. “Why else would you care about a someone like me, huh? You have no use for me. There’s nothing even remotely likeable about me. You all think I’m out of my mind—”

“We don’t think—”

“ _It’s always ‘we’ with you!_ ” Goro tugs at his own hair. “Why do you think you can speak for the other Phantom Thieves? Are you a hive mind? I want to know what _you_ think, Ren.”

Ren’s silence is unsettling, like he’s on the verge of collapse. And for a brief, frightening moment, Goro feels the sadistic urge to press the wound harder. To make it bleed, weave out words that are more than those impassive affirmations, less heartfelt confessions and more a toneless news report.

But before he can say anything, Ren’s footsteps are right behind him. Closer, and closer, until he can feel Ren’s breath ghosting over his neck.

“What _I_ think?” he says, his voice tight with irritation. “I think you’re being childish.”

“ _Childish_?” Goro whirls around, growling, his fist raised—

But Ren catches it easily. Goro wants to feel miffed at that, really, he does, but his breath is caught and all he can do is stare with wide eyes at Ren’s razor-sharp gaze, his deep, angry flush. While he stands frozen, Ren releases his wrist and takes a step back. His face is less red now, but the fury in his expression remains.

“You hurt my friends. You tried to kill me, and you nearly succeeded. And then you tried to kill the rest of us—and once you saved the day and made us believe you were killed, you just _left_.” He curls his hands into fists. “How is that fair? You could have told us you were okay, or done something to let us know. It was the least you could do.” His fists clench even tighter. “You didn’t need to make us mourn. You didn’t need to make _me_ …”

He trails off, and at the tail end of that is a hint of something watery, something akin to tears. He sounds… broken, out of breath, even. Goro is breathless along with it. He doesn’t recognize this Ren, completely out of his depth, out of his element, frenzied and fumbling for something real; Goro is the one left speechless this time.

It’s almost hard to breathe. _This is wrong,_ he thinks. This is  _so_ —

The first sign of a sob catches them both off-guard, but the sound doesn’t come from Ren, nor is it from Goro, either. When he turns in the direction of the noise and sees Chiyo trembling, tears slipping rapidly down her cheeks, all his body goes numb.

Ice fills his veins. Without thinking, he stumbles over and hugs Chiyo to his chest, unsure if his hands are even welcome or necessary. But Chiyo doesn’t fight him, and her sobs wrack her tiny body violently while Goro holds her, stiff and powerless and undone.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stroking her hair with shaky hands. “I’m so…”

Did he do this? Did he scare her? The sting of dejection feels nearly unfamiliar. What fucking good is he, driving everyone to tears and having nothing to show for it? He shouldn’t be here. He should leave. He should—

“Akechi,” Ren says, and Goro’s entire body jolts.

He doesn’t even have time to process the hand that is placed on his shoulder. Lifting Chiyo off of the chair, Goro turns heel and he leaves. He runs, just like he did five years ago, because it’s easier than looking at Ren the way he is, glassy-eyed and vulnerable. 

It’s easier than admitting Ren Amamiya is right. 

 

* * *

 

After Chiyo has calmed down a little, Goro tucks her in, pulling the blanket to her chin. He continues to stroke her hair, because physical attention is good for her. She likes it when he scratches her head, or places a hand over her forehead, or wipes crumbs from her face, and it’s the most outrageous thing he has ever experienced. But to lie and say he hates it would be doubly outrageous. He’s only calm when Chiyo is calm.

He wonders if… perhaps, he had something like this, once upon a time…

“Chiyo,” he speaks up quietly, though by now she’s already asleep. “You’re quite the troublemaker, you know that?” He pauses, as if giving her time to respond. “To think I would meet Ren like this, and in the setting of my own cursed childhood. What a predicament I’ve found myself in…”

She snores softly, and he can’t hold back a strangled laugh at that. His hands haven’t stopped shaking and his heart is lodged in his throat, but there is a small comfort in Chiyo’s even breathing, his steady caressing, even though he’s currently contemplating dying.

Ren has probably left by now. Goro can’t imagine he’d stay, after all Goro had put him through. In fact, he’s betting on the chance that he’ll never come back again, that he’ll find work somewhere else, anything to keep away from the man who had taken his heart to the compactor and crushed it to nothing. But Goro’s chest stings at the thought. He thinks, hopelessly, that he wouldn’t want that at all, that he couldn’t bear never seeing him again.

He’d done it for this long. What’s so different about now?

“I suppose I’m a troublemaker, too,” Goro murmurs, and he waits, paralyzed, for any sign that Chiyo had heard him. But there are none, and he continues unprompted.

“Do I mean anything to you? It seems all I’m good for is making people cry. Perhaps I was right in thinking the institution would be fine without me. It’s not as if Ren couldn’t do a better job than me. Or Mari-san.”

Despite his words, his stomach turns with nausea, simply entertaining the possibility of leaving Chiyo alone—and in the hands of people he barely knows. At least, with him here, he has some illusion of her safety. At least he has some control over their circumstances. There isn’t anyone to tie him down, to pull the strings to the dancing world around him. Not anymore.

But do people actually want him here?

Does Goro even _belong_ here?

Almost mockingly, the walls close in on him. And in the deadly quiet of the room, he allows himself this brief, tender moment to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! i am back with.... an indefinite amount of chapters planned instead of just two! probably will hit around the five or six mark, but we'll see how that goes.
> 
> this chapter is a little bit slow, so apologies. the next chapter will have plenty of akeshu for you guys to eat but for now they have to stop arguing and make up or something...
> 
> BIG thanks to renee (@rnoonjelly on twitter) for helping me with my story! couldn't have done this without her <3

Surviving hadn’t been part of the plan. Goro didn’t want the anguish of it all, building himself up only to lose himself again, returning into being nobody, no one.

Though the plan was, in all fairness, concocted in the split-second he’d pointed his gun at the switch of the bulkhead door and shot it.

In the aftermath, rising from the dewy grass (which should have been rubble and smoke, fire and ashes—his own corpse maybe—) he stares down at his hands and chokes out a gasp. There’s no blood there, nor in his chest when he pulls up his shirt to check—and he wonders if the bullet had hit him after all. No, the pain in his body was of a different sort—the kind you get when you awaken to a persona. Goro knows this, because he’s experienced it twice.

Three times now, he supposes.

There’s a faint echo of something in his heart, a reminder of what transpired. Feelings like never before, feelings of longing, protection, hope. Feelings he would have otherwise never awoken to before. It chills him to his bones, like being drenched with ice water, knowing this is something that’s undoubtedly _his_.

“Ren,” he whispers under his breath, because this was most certainly Ren’s doing. And he doesn’t know why, but in the dark, alone with nothing at the end of the line waiting for him, he keeps calling out Ren’s name.

_Ren. Ren. Ren._

 

* * *

 

Goro never liked living alone. He could tell himself, on a good day, that the privacy was welcomed, even encouraged—figures for a seventeen-year-old constantly in the spotlight to want that, every now and then—but other days he felt six years old again, waiting for a mother who didn’t exist to come home, or a foster sibling, or anyone else, just to chase the loneliness away. Being on his own meant there was too much space for his thoughts to occupy. For that, he much preferred being in a populated space.

Goro glances at the unfinished sudoku puzzle on his desk, the week-old rice that needs to be thrown out. He thinks about how, sometimes, the ghost of a certain former thief will join his shadow on the wall, touching the unlit corners of his room with mocking clarity. And he wonders—was he ever fit to live alone, after all?

The Asakawa Child Care Institution awaits his return, so he leaves behind the pressing walls of his apartment for a new kind of prison—a special kind of prison. The kind that is loud, always making him move, herding away those withering thoughts for practical things like commands and instructions. It’s better than silence. Better than solitude.

Perhaps that’s how Ren felt, during those empty moments in confinement.

(Not that he’d went out of his way to learn about it in the news, no sir.)

He fully expects Ren to be absent when he arrives, recovering from yesterday’s disaster, perhaps abandoning the institution for good. Goro’s first mistake. He finds Ren in the kitchen, waving a spoon in Chiyo’s face, met with stubborn resistance and a protruding tongue. Goro’s next mistake: standing there like an idiot, unmoving until Chiyo’s gaze slides in his direction and brightens at the sight of him.

Ren, of course, turns to look.

Their eyes meet, and when they do, they don’t pull away. Goro takes a steadying breath; even despite their distance, it’s like being suckerpunched, echoes of Ren’s touch against his wrist and shoulders skittering across his skin. He swallows, finally tearing his gaze away to greet Chiyo, who leaps out of her seat to tumble into his arms.

“Hello, Chiyo-chan,” he says, delighting in her warmth. Chiyo clings to him like a koala. She’s quiet as usual, expression unreadable, but her grip is strong, eager. That way, he knows she’d missed him.

His body stings with a different kind of ache.

“Are you hungry?” He tucks her head closer so he can tilt his chin, hide his face from Ren as he brushes the hair out of Chiyo’s face. Such a natural, affectionate gesture—is it welcome? Whenever his fingers shake and his palms grow clammy, does Chiyo notice?  

Chiyo plays with the ends of his hair, her lips pulled into a pout. The bowl of oatmeal that Ren had been attempting to feed her appears to be quite full, no longer steaming—probably gone cold by now, lumpy and sad, like the way Goro makes his bed. He realizes, belatedly, that Ren had spent all this time trying to feed Chiyo, even in the face of her obvious recalcitrance.

Why would he even—it’s not like he— _was_ he sorry?

A sudden, sickening surge of guilt presses Goro’s gut. He’s tempted to leave, pretend the gesture hadn’t been picked up on, but he’s wrapped up now, knowing this distance is his to close. He finds Ren still watching them, awkwardly lingering. He clears his throat and hefts Chiyo higher up on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry for the trouble,” he says, as pleasantly as he can muster. “But I assure you, Chiyo is in good hands now. You may go and tend to other things if you want.”

Ren shrugs. “Okay.”

Goro’s jaw slackens. “O-Okay?”

“What, did you need something else?”

Goro snaps his jaw shut, biting back the incoming remark. Ren wasn’t actually supposed to _agree,_ that’s—that’s in his nature, defying expectations, isn’t it? Being the bigger person?

He must be pouting, because Ren’s looking at him with those all-knowing eyes, waiting for the answer Goro must be dying to give. But, no, he feels his mouth move: “I’m fine. Carry on.”

Another shrug, and Ren drawls, “O-kay.” The languid syllables feel like stones sinking in Goro’s stomach, each one a dark, heavy reminder of what he owes to Ren.

But Ren leaves, and a bubble of panic swells in his departure. Goro’s hand itches to reach out, grab those slender fingers he’s so fond of watching, feeling, even when they’re dug painfully into his skin, but hadn’t he asked for this? Caused it?

Chiyo shifts around uncomfortably, squeezing the nape of his neck in her restlessness. The burn, somehow, grounds him, and he sighs, placing her back on the table she’d been eating from.

“Well. Time for breakfast, Chiyo-chan,” he sings, completely flat, and Chiyo cringes.  

The rest of the morning passes without incident. Goro keeps himself on his toes, expecting Ren to pop up at any moment and admonish him, but Ren—doesn’t. Startlingly, frustratingly, he makes a point to work in opposite rooms, and even when they happen to bump into each other there’s no bite or fire or bared teeth, just a vague, dissatisfying acknowledgement and tense silence. Like they’re fucking _coworkers_ or something. Like they haven’t been through hell and back with each other, like they’re not—

… Well. They _aren’t_ , really, but…

“Take a break, Akechi-kun,” Azuma tells him, sweeping Chiyo away after he’s fed her the last bite of dinner. Normally, he’d be the one to tuck her into bed, but two hours of working nonstop with the toddlers has left him drained; it certainly takes a lot of willpower to deal with barrages of unanswerable questions. What a time to be a media darling five years out of practice.

With a defeated sigh, he starts the long process of cleaning up the kitchen table. Ren’s in the kitchen with him, washing the dishes, and he can tell that he’s attentive—there’s a slight pause to his scrubbing at the sound of Goro’s movements. He goes right back to scrubbing, though, like he’d never heard it.

Goro has a hard time seeing Ren’s face at this angle, irritatingly enough. There’s the curve of his jaw, sharp as a dagger, no longer smooth and round with baby fat, and his tousled curls haven’t changed at all, leaving nostalgia burning at the corners of his mouth.

Ren, Goro knows, isn’t the Ren that he remembers. He’s an adult with a life, a home, a place in the world, comfortably settled, and he could have been content to live that way if Goro hadn’t returned—if Goro hadn’t thrown a wrench in the works, fucked up Ren’s perception of the world, the world where Goro Akechi had decisively perished.

Goro wonders, briefly, if he’ll ever stop being the cause of Ren’s suffering.

He moves to pick up Chiyo’s dirty plate and for some reason, hesitates. He should wait until Ren is finished and go after him, he reasons. Then Ren will slip away again, and Goro will be—

He walks over to Ren and stuffs Chiyo's plate in the sink.

“Ren.” He smiles, and leans nonchalantly against the counter. “Why are you ignoring me?”

Ren observes the newly acquired pile without a trace frustration, or maybe that’s because he’s perfected that impassivity to the point where Goro can’t see his face muscles twitch, or be sure exist, even. “I’m not ignoring you,” he says calmly.

“Bullshit,” Goro growls, and Ren’s eyes shine with— _something._ Goro can’t tell from here, but it almost makes him shiver. Almost.

“If I was ignoring you, then that would mean you were trying to get my attention. Right?” The sink water shuts off with a hiss, and Ren turns to look at him, drying his hands on the hem of his shirt. Goro gnaws his cheek so hard he’s surprised it hasn’t bled.

“… I see. So am I supposed to just—fall on my knees before you? Beg for forgiveness?” he asks, and receives another blank-eyed stare in response. Well, fuck. Okay.

“Fine.” He sighs, tossing his hands in the air with finality. “I give. I’m sorry.”

Ren doesn’t say anything, but Goro can tell he’s unimpressed, eyes unblinking and expression flat. Goro pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “I know, I know, that was insufficient. Can we just—I don’t know, discuss this someplace other than the kitchen?”

Ren gestures—“Be my guest,” he says—and Goro huffs, leading him through the hallways until they reach a relatively isolated corner.

“I’m sorry,” Goro repeats, as he turns to face Ren, “I truly am, but I really don’t understand you.”

“Are you apologizing or trying to pick up yesterday’s argument?” Ren folds his arms across his chest, settling against the opposite wall.

Goro sighs. “Ren, I—why did you come here?” He flattens a palm against his forehead, tousling the strands there. “You knew I would be here, so why… ?”

Ren bites the inside of his cheek. “I should be asking you the same question.”

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing.”

“What?”

“Do you take me as a fool? You’re avoiding talking about yourself.” Goro recalls acutely the latter half of their argument, where Ren had fired accusations at Goro in lieu of discussing his feelings. “It keeps coming back to me, somehow. Why?”

Ren’s scuffs his toe against the floor, prevaricating. “I thought you loved talking about yourself.”

“I’ve already had to deal with my bullshit five years past my intended death,” Goro spits. “I’m tired of myself, couldn’t you tell?”

Ren hunches his shoulders, his eyes downcast. Goro has never seen Ren so openly vulnerable before. Even with a gun to his forehead, Ren Amamiya had looked deceptively peaceful. With Joker’s mask over his eyes, his pain was always locked up, hidden.

Ren doesn’t even have _glasses_ for that anymore.

“You know what? I don’t know.” Ren laughs wryly, and Goro thinks he could cut through skin with that laugh. “I don’t know why I came, to be honest. I thought I needed to. But I didn’t know why.”

Goro remembers how long Ren had spent trying to feed Chiyo, going numb at the thought. It’s too much to hope that the reason could be him; he won’t allow himself such a selfish assumption. “You’re hard to understand, as usual, Joker,” he says lowly.

Ren closes his eyes, seeming flustered. “You wanted honesty, right?” He flattens himself against the wall, hands in his pockets, an old habit that leaves Goro awash with melancholy. “I’m sorry, but I’m lost, Akechi. I didn’t expect yesterday to happen, and talking with you reopened some old wounds that I’m not sure how to deal with. I’m not Joker anymore, you know.”

Goro’s palms feel too hot in his gloves, itching to shed its second skin. Instead he curls and uncurls his fingers in the fabric as if expecting the itch to flee.

“You used to be in control of everything,” Goro says, his voice small. “Wild Card and leader of the Phantom Thieves… even close to death, you were one step ahead of me.”

Ren smiles ruefully. “Sorry. I’m afraid you caught me off-guard this time.”

Goro shakes his head, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Of course. I… I should have expected it.” Laughter, so dry it suffocates, slips from his throat. “How utterly pathetic of me to think you had responsibility in this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ll be frank,” Goro mutters. “I assumed you would take charge in my place, like I had no part in this as well. You always knew what to say to people, children, teenagers, adults… even Shadows.”

Ren sighs, tugging on his fringe. “Well, I guess I don’t always, huh?”

It seems painful to admit, given by the way Ren’s expression tightens, a wince prominent on his face. Goro feels his stomach drop in turn. This—this really is uncharted territory for them, isn’t it? No maps, no models, no leader for them to follow. Goro swallows at that, hating the burn that accompanies it.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You must think me incompetent, unable to stand on my two legs without your guidance. I used to believe I could do everything on my own.”

“You _did_ do everything on your own, though,” Ren remarks, and Goro laughs a bit, startled.

“I—I suppose. But I can’t do _this_. Not with the way I am now.”

“So what do you want us to do, then?”

Goro stares at him, and Ren stares back, like he’s staring right through him. Goro can feel every strand at the back of his neck stand on end with how _lost Ren_  seems, how close to frenzied his eyes appear.

But he doesn’t have an answer prepared in time, and it’s the engine room all over again.

“Akechi-kun?” Mari pops her head in, none the wiser. The bubble of anticipation between them pops. Noticing Ren’s presence, she takes a step back and flushes down to her collarbones. “Ah, am I—?”

“No.” Goro glances at Ren, who gazes steadily back; with a silent nod, Ren permits him to leave.  

Goro turns to face Mari. He can’t bear to see that look on Ren’s face any longer. “Did you need me for something, Mari-san?”

“Yes, I…” She seems dubious, but doesn’t push the matter further, beckoning for him to follow. “The staff have already retired for the day, so it’s just us, but… one of the infants has fallen ill and has been throwing tantrums all evening. I haven’t been able to calm her down, so I was wondering if you knew a way to soothe her, any way at all.”

On the contrary, infant care is way out of Goro’s ballpark. Still, he breathes easier the further he gets from that hallway, from Ren’s dark, miserable eyes, and by the time they arrive at the nursery all tension has seeped from his shoulders.

“I’m sorry I left you, Kanae-chan,” Mari croons, lifting the snivelling baby out of her crib. She approaches Goro, who holds his arms out, plopping Kanae onto him and wincing when it causes her cries to pitch higher. She mumbles, “My bad,” to which he responds with a smile.

“It’s fine. I’m sure I can think of something.” He rocks Kanae gently, one hand coming up to pat her back. The standard procedure, he’s learned—though Chiyo always requires a little… antics, such as absurd sound effects, or (god forbid) a lullaby when she’s particularly het up.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Goro asks, knowing full well Kanae can’t understand him. There is no need to mince words this time, unlike with the toddlers, who latch onto every word he says. While Kanae listens, she doesn’t comprehend; she needs only his soft cadence, a lullaby in its own right.

“Humans are so fragile,” Goro murmurs, delivering it soft enough that it can be mistaken for reassurance. “They crack under the slightest of pressures, like glass. Infants like you, especially. Crying over a mere fever. You’re quite a handful, aren’t you, Kanae-chan?”

“Akechi-kun,” Mari warns, but he counters with pout.

“She can’t understand me, can she? Look—she’s calming down.” Goro raises Kanae in his arms, who whimpers, but doesn’t wail. The movement jars her, though, enough that she hiccups into another violent crying fit, and Goro sighs again.

“Kanae-chan,” he scolds, not realizing his abrasion won’t do him any favors. Kanae sobs like she’s a newborn again, cheeks red and eyes screwed shut, the likes of which Goro has never had to deal with before. In his defense, being a Detective Prince didn’t exactly comprise mothers asking him to pose in pictures with their baby—though he was asked, once, to hold a puppy for a commercial.

Aside from the point—Kanae is still crying. “Kanae-chan,” Goro urges her. “I know it hurts. I’ve been hurt too, you see. And when it comes, it feels like the Earth has crashed down on you. Like you can do nothing but curse the world for falling. But the pain is manageable—do you know why?”

She registers the intonation of a question, quieting to hear the answer. Goro leans in closer, studying her wide, gleaming irises, and says, “Because you know that, with time, it will fade, along with the memory of it, and by the end of the battle, you will emerge a little bit stronger.”

He receives a soft whine in response, not shrill or angry, which is a step. He can’t help but smile, swaying her back and forth as her shudders start to decline.

“Know this, also,” Goro continues, though he can't quite fathom why. “You do not have to fight your pain alone, no matter what you think.”

And it’s so simple, so easy to admit to a child who won’t remember this when she’s older, this lesson he has taken his entire adolescence to learn. A lesson he _continues_ to learn, even after all the help he’s been offered, all the help he’s already received. He cradles Kanae until she’s too tired to cry out, her lashes fluttering against her peach-like cheeks, so smooth, so unblemished. Goro rests a hand on her hair, thin and wispy, and brushes it aside.

His hands have done much worse than this, he decides.

“Goodnight, Kanae-chan,” he says, and lays her prone form tenderly in her crib. Mari stands aside, looking as if she wants to say something, but refraining. To interrupt would be to break the peace. He can tell that she’s curious, understands that his and Ren’s dilemma isn’t over, _won’t_ be for long, and Mari must know eventually. He wipes his hands on his pants, cleaning them of imaginary dust.

“You want to know something, Mari-san?” He laughs without humor. “I’m not as virtuous as you think I am. I have done unforgivable things. I’ve hurt people and their families.” He smiles sweetly, and when he licks his lips, it tastes sour. “That man, Ren Amamiya, is one of those people.”

Mari seems put-off by the news, her eyes darting nervously between Goro and the floor. A good thing, for sure—if she should deny him, then he’ll know for a fact that he doesn’t belong here.  

“Does he hate you?” Mari asks, completely out of the blue, and Goro blinks.

“… U-Um—not exactly, but… aren’t you afraid? Of me?”

“I don’t think your past is any of my business, Akechi-kun,” Mari states, her hands folded neatly in front of her, “but you’ve helped us so much these past few weeks that it’s hardly a deterrent. I’m not one to deny free help, and you haven’t hurt the children… especially Chiyo-chan.”

Goro frowns at that. All it takes is a mention of her name. “You won’t even ask me what I’ve done?”

“No, I won’t. Again, it’s none of my business. We’re coworkers. That’s all.” She unfolds her hands to bend down, gather toys from the floor, put them in their respective boxes. The silence ticks on and on before she speaks again: “Either way, whatever it is that you did, you seem deeply regretful for it now. And back there, with Amamiya-kun—you were apologizing to him, weren’t you?”  

“You were eavesdropping?” Goro gapes at her.

“I-I wasn’t! I simply… read the mood,” Mari amends. “Anyways… I don’t think you’re a bad person, Akechi-kun. Perhaps you made a few mistakes in the past—”

Goro rolls his eyes. “Colossal mistakes.”

“Well, sure,” she agrees reluctantly, “but regardless, it says a lot about you that you told me about it. And that you helped around the institution, and apologized to Amamiya-kun. So, as long as you don’t cause any more problems… I’m fine with you staying here, I think.”

Goro keeps silent, pondering. “I don’t know how much of this I deserve, Mari-san, but… thank you.”

Mari smiles at him. “It’s the least I could do. You’ve already done so much for us.”

For some reason, Goro can't answer to that.

 

* * *

 

He visits Chiyo before his departure, tucking her favorite stuffed rabbit between her and the blanket. Shockingly, her eyes are wide open, reflecting the moonlight when she turns to look at him.

“You should be asleep, Chiyo-chan,” he says, voice fond despite his reprimand. Chiyo mumbles something incoherent and clutches her rabbit tighter. There’s a silent plea in her gaze, a desperation that is familiar to Goro, and easy to remedy. He seeks her hand under the blanket and grasps it firmly.

“I wish I could stay, too.” He rubs his thumb gently over her wrist, patient. Sleeping in an institution bed with nothing but the light to warm him hadn’t been easy for him, either, even in a room full of orphans and rodents. Often the cold reminded him of how lonely he was.

As he waits for Chiyo to drift off, she keeps her large eyes on him, searching. Goro returns her gaze questioningly. He laments not being able to connect with her on a level other than physical, given that his hands tremble still, the fear that he might bruise and scar her with a mere touch overriding all common sense. A lump forms in his throat just thinking of it, his nerves burning.

“I have to go soon, Chiyo-chan.” He starts to pull his hand away, but Chiyo whines whenever he tries, tugging back with twice the strength. Fear bubbles in his stomach, unbidden; he doesn’t want to exert a force any higher than what Chiyo is capable of enduring, doesn’t want to risk hurting her, so he uses his other hand to gently pry her hand off of him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise. I…”

Fuck, what has he done to her that she refuses to go a day without him? He’s being selfish. He’s giving Chiyo a reason to believe in him, when he knows there’s nothing about him to be believed in. Has he truly changed, or do his faces remain the same? Can he say, for a fact, that he has an idea of what he’s doing, that no one will end up wounded by the end of it, or is he truly a lost cause?

“Akechi, are you in there?”

Ren’s voice muddles his musing into white noise. He turns around, finding Ren leaning against the doorframe, watching him.

“Ren,” he stammers out. “You’re… still here.”

“Yeah…” He rubs at his eyes, as if fighting to stay awake. “Is Chiyo-chan asleep?”

Goro glances at Chiyo, who had nodded off somewhere along the way, breathing slow and soft. He hums an affirmation.

“Okay… that’s good,” Ren pushes off and leaves, and Goro registers the unspoken command—“follow me”.

After he ensures Chiyo is properly wrapped in her blanket, Goro catches up to Ren, who sits on the couch of the waiting room. Goro has barely time to seat himself before Ren says, “You really care about those children, don’t you?”

Goro stops mid-motion. “… Of course. They deserve a better future than the one I was given. If I can at least do a little to help them, then…”

“You would really go out of your way to do that?”

Goro laughs, though it comes out more as a wheeze than anything. “Surprising, isn’t it? I used to think the opposite of myself as well. However, when I met Chiyo-chan, and Mari-san, and the children… I couldn’t say no to them. Perhaps that’s why, at first, I kept a distance.”

He settles against the couch cushions, a respectable distance from Ren, his hands folded over his stomach. Ren watches him take a breath, in and out. “To be honest with you, I’m terrified of hurting them.”

Ren snorts a little. “You wouldn’t hurt people for no reason.”

“Even so. The pain can be unintentional.”

Ren hears what he isn’t saying, if the odd look in his eye is anything to go by. Goro knows he has no reason to hide anymore. He’d bared himself to bone in that ship, after all.

“You understand now, don’t you, Ren?” Goro turns his head towards him, eyes stubbornly set. “Perhaps it was cowardice, but the thought of hurting you again… it kept me away from you.”

Ren faces him, too, arms crossed over the head of the couch to bury his chin between them. “You’ve already tried to kill me. What worse pain would I have to endure?”

“Bold as always,” Goro mutters. He cracks a smile despite himself. “If not, a bit naïve.”

“How else would I qualify as a Phantom Thief?” Ren teases, returning the smile.

And it’s that—that expression of openness, just this side of coy—that, in the end, unravels Goro. “… Ren.” He hesitates, mulling it over. He picks it back up again: “I’ve made my decision. I won’t run anymore. You deserve much more than that, and to be honest, I… I wouldn’t want to leave you, either.”

He isn’t entirely sure where this is coming from, but the thought of leaving this all behind and abandoning Ren is _crushing_ , even more so than the possibility of being rejected. He wants, somehow, to salvage this—to dive in headfirst, uncaring of the consequences, like Joker always did—

He knows, like he knows fear, that he doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

Ren keeps his nose buried in his arms, expression hidden, as Goro shifts closer, closer, until their knees are almost touching. Goro doesn’t know where to put his hands other than in his lap; still, Ren’s eyes flicker down to them in interest. Goro decides not to comment on that.

“I’m… aware it won’t take a simple apology to fix this. However, if you will have me, I want to see where this goes. I know you don’t owe me anything, after everything I’ve done. And it’s clear that you still distrust me. But I want to earn that trust, if nothing else. I want to know there’s still a future for—for whatever you call our relationship, however hazy the prospect.”

There’s more he outright refuses to say, but Ren is observant, and Goro knows this. He sees the risk of having his walls stripped, is practically _offering_ himself for it at this point, and maybe—maybe he needs it. Maybe they both need it.

“Please,” Goro begs, thoroughly bared, and Ren’s eyes flit away.

Slowly, he lifts his head from his arms. He places his hands on his thighs, almost a perfect mirror of Goro’s pose; the urge to reach out and brush fingers against them flares through Goro’s skin. He refrains, though, and waits for Ren to find a comfortable position on the couch before initiating anything.

“… Well.” Ren scratches awkwardly at his cheek. “I didn’t deny you back then, so I have no reason to deny you now.”

Relief floods Goro like a rainstorm. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes,” Ren says, then sighs. “I can’t promise you it will be easy, but… I’ve thought about it a lot over the past night. Saying goodbye to you would be hard, and I don’t like brooding over wasted potential. You wanted us to be friends, right?”

Goro’s vision starts to waver. “I… I did.” He blinks rapidly to balance himself. “The only sane thing I ever wanted for myself.”

“Then this is your chance,” Ren says, “to finally have it.”

Goro takes a breath and, with a start, realizes that he is shuddering; tears spill from his eyes, scalding hot. Ren just sits there, not quite sure what to do with his hands as Goro leans his head against the couch, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes and hissing in breath.

“I—I’m sorry,” he sputters out, half in laughter. “This is unbecoming of me.” Still, he continues to weep, while Ren waits politely, not moving or speaking to reassure him.

“Do you need a moment?” Ren asks, once there’s a lapse between each shuddered breath. Goro wipes furiously at his eyes.

“I’m—I’m okay. I’m perfect, really.” He squints through his tears, Ren at the center of everything, still with his hands in his lap. Goro hates it.

“Ren…” He can’t believe how breathy he sounds. “Could you… please…”

Ren just tilts his head to the side, questioning. Forgetting, for just a moment, his disgust at vulnerability, Goro spreads his arms out, eyes screwed shut, and at once Ren perks up in realization.

“O—Oh.”

Goro regrets this already. He’s prepared to withdraw, only, warm arms wrap around his torso, pulling him against a broad chest of scratchy cotton, smelling, of all things, like coffee. Five years later and the scent still clings to him like a fucking coat. Goro wants to laugh at that, at _everything_ , really.

“… Ha… I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he admits, though he thinks he only has the courage to say this because the words smother into gibberish against Ren’s shirt. But Ren listens, and he hears it, his heartbeat a rapid drum rhythm against Goro’s ear, a testament to his embarrassment.

“Thank you, Ren.” Goro makes sure Ren can understand him this time. Ren’s hitched breath brushes cotton against his cheek, almost untraceable with how quickly he recovers.

“O-Of course. It’s nothing,” he mumbles.

And with the silence that follows, Goro closes his eyes. If, for only a second, he pretends he isn’t on a waiting room couch, he can almost fool himself into thinking he’s right at his apartment, in his too-large bed, a warm, comforting weight pressed up against him. Perhaps that’s what home is, he thinks, blearily: when there’s something, someone you can look forward to upon every return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget to leave comments and kudos if you liked! comments mean the most to me so i know how you guys are liking the story~
> 
> my first semester of college is close to ending so hopefully the next chapter will come out a lot faster than this one. here's hoping!

**Author's Note:**

> i want to say first and foremost that while foster care has been a solution for some people, the system is heavily flawed, and my goal is not to glorify it. i do however want to use this as an opportunity to develop goro and chiyo's relationship as well as portray characters who, despite the system's flaws, work hard to make things better in the circumstances they have. foster care/institutions in japan are not this ideal and i hope that i've at least communicated that!
> 
> i could go on and on about this, but ultimately i'll leave it up to you to do the research and inform yourself if you're curious. it's important to do so before making any assumptions about the topic at hand, just to be safe!
> 
> thank you for reading! i love feedback and would appreciate comments + kudos <3
> 
> come find me on twitter @nonnecheri


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